Futility

My heart toothlike aches with your polite diction
To be so unfeeling all the time would strain the plot
Of any science fiction
Morning stumbles over the dawn
Attempting to envision a chameleon sighing variously neon
Chapped lips embrace a cigarette
A white knuckle grip about coffee
That passes over your perfect smile
Swallowing bitterness so sweetly
To a case of either or, a lone bottle
Is another whore
Currently I’m adrift
Says the objection to the self
Leatherbound on the shelf
Futility: the heart is a useless passion
Mere contradiction
Reflection strains the plot of any flawed fiction…